The George of Doom
by Wario the TableMan
Summary: 'Tis the season to be doomed


When the skies aligned with the perfect shade of purple, there was even more terror than the midnight. The sights were like the piercing gaze of deadly death. It made the squeamish truly become enveloped in the horrors of the creatures lurking about the tragic streets. The fire hydrants looked like the abysmal decree of resulting qualms.

"But I am George," said George with the enthusiasm of his greatest honour. He felt so many dearest emblems patched his heart (globally confiscated by the mental lurchings).

"Why must you be this agonising in your cranium?" asked the Mighty Purple.

"You are making a fool of our Irken attributaries..." added the Mighty Red with chideness and a spoonful of chive in his right gloved hand. The oozing cream went in betwixt his digits like a seeping sewage system last February during the lightning storms in February.

"This February will not be a consideration," said George with his seething agony in his heart still like a mystic fireplace of shame and rivaling dignity. He took his own glove and showed its power to the Tallest Bros.

"That is a hand," said Purple.

"That a hand is," agreed Red.

"Now dispose of Christmas and may Santa Claus be doomed to never repeat the cycle of horrors," said George with replying tongues.

Dib the wiz-kid was in his bedroom, looking through an expensive telescope and writing down notes with methodical prowess. His hands went ablaze with the flames of duty. His duty was so grand. It made you wonder why he didn't have an absolute chick to be his babe.

"My glass-encased eyes have seen a horrible fate!" He quickly ran to his sister's room to discuss the immense ills of the universal purge impending. He took out his pie-chart and explained with many words and even more syllables and some syllables.

His sister took out a document. "Do not speak to me, brother of the dumb spine," said she. She then took out her sword that she had received from Gandalf and destroyed many nations with one godly swing. The buildings and burger joints went mightily ouched, like a pained ow.

"Meow," said a bizarre green puppy. "I meow because of social inaccuracies. Why do you assume that all is right when a dog barks? Why is it considered unwell for the light mewling to escape from my vocal units? This is a troubling ideology that stands only based on an evolution of mindsets that confiscate the given for the norm. This is not a true definition as only a Sith deals in absolutes..."

Dib agreed with the dog. "You are allowed to have my agreement."

"Yaba-daba-doo," said the dog.

The mighty cry from the household pet item was mighty enough to summon a great many audience of the entire army of Washington.

Zim plucked a carrot from the garden of his youth. He ate it and thought about the monkey painting adourning his wall. "I can see Washington has come..." he said with slight annoyance. He stepped outside and readied his plasma nose.

"Zim, where is George?" asked the ancient American general.

"I don't know," said Zim. "I am not the one responsible for his callous doings." He took of the carrot and jammed it into Washington's right canine tooth socket because hippos were not invented until the Voya-Nui arc.

Washington wept. "I need to know because he stole my name and now he wants to destroy Christmas like the Grinch."

"I hate green individuals!" said Zim because he's a stinking hypocrite which is invented because it isn't a hippo and this is before the Voya-Nui arc.

Jaller was here, speaking of which. He rode the graceful Gukko bird like that one set with no context. He scooped up Washington and Zim onto his elegant winged chariot. "What's up, gang?" asked the golden masked dear.

"Dear Jaller!" said Zim. "We are stuck in a time vortex of truth and ideals! What is which and which is what?"

**A/N: Zim pronounced Jaller like "higher" because he is confused from the Spanish class he took. For more info, check the fanfic "Zim's Easy A" that I wrote on October 23, 2020.**

"We can't all get what we want," said Washington wisely like a true general of goodness. His carrot tooth glistened in the wind.

Zim almost wanted to cry, but was too manly for this.

The green dog rocketed up to the Gukko with Dib's big ugly head on his back.

"GIR! It is thy!" said Zim surprised because he bought two tickets to paradise; he was not expecting Dib's collection of entrance.

"I am here for noble reasons, master," said Gir as he saluted and then cancanned to Cancun with the Killer Shrimp.

"Think, Zim! What would Manray do?" cried Dib as he adjusted his hairpiece.

Zim took his Z and converted it to an H.

"I am him..." said him.

"Holy blueberry cobbler!" said Washington with the idea of justice floating around his white wigged head of powder and prudence. He quickly took out his scythe and sliced a hole in the sky. Out poured Lewa and Kongu. "I made it just in time!"

"We arrived for helping needs," said Lewa, posing heroically atop the Gukko and looking at Jaller with familiar eyes. "I know this person!"

"I know him too!" said Kongu, obviously winking at Dib because Dib has really cool shoes.

"Don't gleep my sneaks, vile fiend!" shouted Dib as he kicked Kongu in his elbow. The elbow broke like a cheap McDonald's toy that was only made to fling discs and other collectible items over a limited-time offer. One Grand Prize Winner will receive an XBox360 console and a gift card to rice.

"I bet you hate rice, Dib!" snickered Zim, discarding his annoying lower-case "h".

"Zim, my life is like a butt. It is a sitting object!" said Dib wisely. Lewa and Kongu were honoured by the lad's courageous speech because they knew about Le-Koro stuff just like that.

"Can I just say something?" asked Washington.

"What is it, General?" asked Zim, keeping a close eye on paying customers and Washington's wicked abs.

"I have a theory of George. Maybe he hates Christmas because Santa is too much a very bearded man. Maybe the thought of beards scars his heart with painful memories of youth and high school bullies."

"Washington, you are very wise for doing that assumption with your American brain!" said Gir. "But I must decline your invitation to forward this judgment."

"Why Gir? Why?" said Zim with a tear in his brand new Levi's.

"I believe that George's power stems from pure madness," said Gir. "I do not think he possesses a single logical thought that can deduce his case to infer rationale. He is truly a butt."

"Totally a butt," said Dib.

"Totes," nodded Jaller. "General, do you think we can even defeat George?"

"Nay," sighed Washington, picking his flower from his hat. "I think George's whole life is rockin' dat steez a bit too hard. It's real unbodey, bruhs."

Zim looked down at his hand. "This finger was my favourite olden finger of yore..." He thought about the chaotic lives of New Pennsylvania and swore allegiance to his taco stand. "Let's kick some righteous butt, homes!"

And so, the butt-kicking commenced with gluteus opportunities that spanned the aeons.

**Now Centipede?**

**Sans Centipedes.**

**Sizzlipede will not do.**

**Neither will that, this, or you.**

**You did say to chronologically file the data in correspondence to the latest order.**

**Yes. But it can breathe light.**

**I hate the darkness. Let it snow.**


End file.
